Water Baby
by Xrai
Summary: <html><head></head>Jack swims and remembers. Jack/Ianto</html>


**Title**: Water Baby  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s):** Jack, Ianto; Jack/Ianto  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Jack swims and remembers.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If I owned Torchwood, the boys would have had more screentime together, more sex, and Ianto would still be alive.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Written for the **jack_ianto_las** for the prompt "childhood memories". Hee. Got a negative and a positive review but I'm still pleased not to have gone unnoticed. This isn't my best fic, but it did give me a greater sense of satisfaction than the rest; rereading it does not make me want to dig a hole to hide in. :D

* * *

><p>He glides, weightless. Floating, up, up and away from the ground, it feels like zero-g, only far better. The water is cool and salty on his skin and on his tongue. Through it's probably not the best idea to swallow it, not with all the stuff that gets dumped into the oceans nowadays.<p>

Jack opens his eyes. There's a brief prick of salt salt sting before it fades away, courtesy of fifty-first century genes. The sea is grey-green around him and he's out far enough that he can't see the seabed, not while swimming this close to the surface. Fish, small silvery ones, dart around him and curiously nibble at his fingers and toes. They flit away when he kicks and propels himself up through green glassy surface.

Around him the sun shines. He lets himself bob on the waves that curl towards the shore, which is far enough for him to barely make out the people on it. He squints and spots their umbrella, then Ianto beneath it. He waves briefly in the direction of the shore, though no one can probably see him anyway, then takes a deep breath and dives under.

He slips soundlessly through the water. Like smooth silk it parts before him and he pushes himself deeper, deeper, the increasing pressure making his ears pop. Back home he would have dived like this for lobsters and there'd be competitions with the other kids to see who could catch the largest one.

The seabed here is sparsely inhabited. Not like the seas on the Boeshane, where every inch of sand was covered in corals of some kind, or had multi-coloured fish flitting around. He'd loved best the curious brown-striped cuttlefish that often lingered in the shallows and would tickle proffered limbs. They'd tasted terrible, but made wonderful pets.

A kick from his leg sends up a cloud of sand. A hermit crab scuttles away, dragging its home with it. Jack swoops down and picks it up before it can burrow itself in the sand. It's legs tickle the palm of his hand, and as he peers at it, it seems to be glaring crossly at him, clacking it's tiny pincers menacingly.

Gray, with the cruel curiosity that came with childhood, had enjoyed pulling them out of their shells, watching them scrabble naked and terrified on the sand. Some died. Jack wonders vaguely if that had been some kind of sign, but he's pretty sure he'd done similar things at that age. He has clear memories of mashing sand worms into a sandy paste for 'food' when playing house with Sanja and Gavin.

The need for air drives him back to the surface, so he lets the creature fall and watches it glide through the water back to the ground like some pilot abandoning a burning plane with his unwieldy parachute. Breaching the barrier between sea and sky, he notices a small figure standing by the umbrella on the beach. It looks like it's staring out to sea.

Jack sighs. Time to go back.

He doesn't swim back, but lets the waves pull him along instead. They tumble him head over heels, and water gets into his nose and ears and mouth. Soon he feels his limbs scrape the sandy beach as he's swept along until finally, like a castaway, or a limp piece of kelp, he's left on the shore.

The beach is noisy. He'd rather just lie there and not think, but kid races across the beach just centimetres from his face. Wet sand spatters into his mouth. He spits.

The sea was quiet.

Feet step into his line of vision, and they're soon replaced by a pair of bright red shorts covering a rather attractive butt. "Hey," says Ianto. "Had fun?"

Jack flops onto his back and makes a sound that's neither affirmative nor negative. He sweeps his arms and legs around him, like making snow angels and manages to dig himself several centimetres into the sand. Then he takes two handfuls of sand and splats them onto his chest to give himself two rather flat, messy breasts. Gray used to give him five. Gray had liked breasts.

Ianto shades his eyes with his hand and peers out to sea. "How far out did you go?" he asks. "I could hardly see you."

Jack looks up at the cloudless blue sky. "Very far."

_fin_


End file.
